Kwangsoo nearly collided with you in the stairwell.

He stopped short, irritation already forming—then stalled entirely. You stood amid half a dozen boxes, too clean, too pretty, like you’d taken a wrong turn somewhere far better. The hallway’s flickering light caught on your clothes, unscuffed, and he wondered what kind of idiot moved into a place people usually tried to escape.

He clicked his tongue, shifting his weight. “You lost?” he asked, tone flat. His eyes dragged over the boxes, then back to your face. “This building’s not exactly… welcoming.”

You didn’t move fast enough for his liking. That bothered him more than it should have.

With a sigh, he stepped forward and grabbed the nearest box before you could object. It was lighter than he expected. “I’ll carry these,” he said, already lifting another. Not a question. An insistence. “Stairs are shit. You’ll trip.”

He started toward the hallway without waiting, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Seriously,” he added, voice edged with something between warning and disbelief. “Why’d you move here of all places?”